The One Who Was Lost In Translation
I read a gifted book after the one who gifted it left my life. It helped me understand what went wrong. We were lost in translation.
Book reviews & analyses
I read a gifted book after the one who gifted it left my life. It helped me understand what went wrong. We were lost in translation.
Reading SUGARBREAD was like eating a whole green chilli. It made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut. Satisfaction came after tears.
Indu Sundaresan’s ‘The Mountain of Light’ left me unimpressed. The Kohinoor diamond is a sore spot for people of the Indian subcontinent.
In India, you’re not allowed to be a woman who can’t cook. The pandemic brought me ways to navigate this and a new appreciation of food.
What does Benazir Bhutto have to do with me? We women of the subcontinent. My sisters, my friends.
Delhi & Mumbai, two definitions of what it means to me. A nostalgic, dramatic legacy? Or a rags-to-riches renegade?
Why does heartbreak decimate self esteem? Where does shame sit in this pain? Can we heal from it instead of escaping its lessons?
The most poignant events of our lives still leave an impact that only lasts a couple of years at most. What do we make of ‘true love’ which has a kind of endlessness?
A lovely return to my late 20s where books absorbed me with a rigour I did not experience in my social or professional life. It was like coming home.
Giving sex an easy place in my mind, required moving around the furniture inside my head – old traumas, inherited shame, cultural taboos. This book taught me flying.